


she is the ache in the empty (come back to me)

by oceansgate



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Angst, But mostly angst, F/F, Fluff, One Shot, a little smut, debbie ocean - Freeform, inspired by some discussions on tumblr, lou miller - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:45:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansgate/pseuds/oceansgate
Summary: "She is the ache in the empty, the first time you changed your mind and the last time you were sorry about it...When they ask you what your favorite moment is, you will say Her.You will always say Her."— 	Caitlyn Siehl, Her, Her, HerLou rescues Debbie's things from the sidewalk.





	she is the ache in the empty (come back to me)

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by some discussions on tumblr (thank you to all the lovely people involved for sparking my imagination...). It takes place just after Debbie has gone to jail, and is unconnected to my other work. 
> 
> In case it is unclear, all the memories are written in italics, the present moment is in normal type, and the (recent) past is in bold.
> 
> The poem at the beginning is by Caitlyn Siehl and is from her book What We Buried.
> 
> thank you so so much to the incredible @indiesoul for beta reading and generally providing support and persuading me the early draft wasn't a pile of unreadable nonsense. I am eternally grateful <3

> _She is a year ago. She is the ache in the empty, the first time you changed your mind and the last time you were sorry about it. She is a city sleeping beside you, warm and vast and familiar, streetlights yawning and stretching, and you have never. You have never. You have never loved someone like this. She is your first stomach ache. Your first panic attack and your favorite cold shower. A mountain is moving somewhere inside of you, and her handprints are all over it. Here. Here. Here, you love her. In the fractured morning, full of too tired and too sad, she is the first_ _foot that leaves the bed. She is the fight in you, the winning and the losing battle floating like a shipwreck in your chest. When they ask you what your favorite moment is, you will say Her._
> 
> _You will always say Her._
> 
> _—_ Caitlyn Siehl, Her, Her, Her

Lou didn’t even know why she had walked that way. Force of habit, she supposed. After all, it’s been a long four years of walking the three and a half extra blocks on her way from the boxing gym to the subway, eyes flitting up at _that_ door, _those_ windows (consciously at first, subconsciously later), hoping…

But there was no point now, she knew that. So it must have been habit, burrowed deep inside the soles of her feet, which carried her along that street that morning. Sometimes habits can be destructive, but sometimes they can save you. Or at least, save something you didn’t even know needed saving.

Now though, as the she floats among the boxes filling her apartment floor, eyes catching at fabrics flowing over edges and corners of records poking up above the surface, Lou feels as though she is perilously close to slipping under. She can feel the memories pouring into her lungs, filling them up until she is gasping for air and clutching at the edges of the sofa, desperately trying not to drown in the ocean of Debbie now flowing through her apartment.

_∞_

**_“What the FUCK are you doing?”_ The words leapt from her mouth before she could clamp her lips down over them, but luckily he didn’t hear her – the sounds swallowed by the hungry roar of the New York traffic. Still, something of her voice must have brushed against his shoulder because he turned, absentmindedly, eyes staring blankly somewhere over Lou’s shoulder. Not that Lou was looking at his face – her eyes had clambered out of her skull and attached themselves to the cardboard box in his arms. The softness of the silk peeking out over the top grated sharp and rough against the back of her eyeballs and the sensation almost had her gagging...**

_∞_

Lou’s eyes flit over to that box now, and she sees the silk staring back. She stands gingerly, legs carrying her unwillingly towards it. Her hand reaches down and as her fingers make contact with the fabric, the skin on the back of her neck tugs away from her spine, pulling tightly across the front of her throat. Hands grabbing wildly as the colours slip though her fingers, Lou pulls and pulls until the kimono stands suspended in front of her, the ghost of Debbie standing inside it…

_∞_

_“I have a present for you” Lou says as she opens the door to see Debbie draped over the couch. “Here, catch!”._

_Lou throws the bag at her and Debbie reaches a hand up lazily, missing the bag by a mile. It lands softly on the floor behind her._

_“Hey, I spent good money on that…_ ” _Debbie looks up, eyebrow raised. “Okay well, no actual currency exchanged hands, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”_

_Debbie swings her legs onto the ground and reaches back over the couch to retrieve it. “Honey if you cared so much you shouldn’t throw it at me – you know I’m a lousy catch.”_

_Lou smirks and throws herself down into the space next to Debbie, arm snaking around her waist. “Oh baby don’t be so harsh on yourself, you’re an excellent catch and I’m very proud of myself for hooking you…”_

_Debbie shoves her gently, rolling her eyes again as a soft giggle escapes from her lips. Lou wants to dip her head down and catch it between her own, but she also wants Debbie to open the gift so she holds back, pressing her lips lightly into the side of Debbie’s neck instead. Lou knows how easily they get distracted._

_Debbie’s hands are fumbling into the bag now, pulling out the flowing silk, purple and black dripping off her fingers as it slides over them. She holds it up. “Ohhh Lou, it’s beautiful.”_

_“And it will look even more beautiful with you inside it…”_

_∞_

Debbie’s laugh rings in Lou’s ears and the soft sound which once caressed her cheek now pounds heavily against the inside of her skull. The silk slips from between her fingers and the kimono falls back into the box, taking the ghost of Debbie with it. Lou’s arm jolts forward as she desperately tries to wrap her arms around her, to grasp tightly onto the ghost and never let go. She wants to pull the memory of Debbie close and whisper over and over again the words she never said enough of. She wants to beg Debbie to stay, to never walk out, to never leave her. But this ghost, the one running her fingers gently up and down the silk of her new kimono, she would only laugh and say “Lou baby, what are you talking about? I would never leave you.” Because this ghost is young and innocent and still interested in the curve of Lou’s jaw and the way she takes her coffee and the words which spill from her lips at 2am…

_∞_

**The wind’s howls echoed mournfully through the street. Lou forced herself to swallow down the bile that was rising up her throat. She dug her hands deep into her pockets, fingernails digging through the fabric straight into her skin. The sharp bite of pain focused her mind enough to bring her eyes spinning back to her skull. Putting all her energy into composing a picture of cool disinterest upon her face, Lou looked him directly in the eye. “Excuse me?” she said, with a slight nod of her head. He looked up, eyes blank.**

**Lou was struck again by how hollow he was. Looking at Claude, Lou felt that if she peeled off the layers of his expensive suit and unzipped the skin beneath, she would be met with only empty space. He didn’t seem like a man filled with warm flesh and pulsing blood, with hopes and dreams and loves and lies. But Lou had learnt appearences can be deceiving. Claude may not have a heart beating between the bones of his ribcage, but he sure as hell had stolen Debbie’s and locked it away behind walls of bone and muscle and skin, far out of Lou’s reach.**

**In the early days Lou had fantasised about taking a knife and slicing through those walls, plunging her fist deep inside him and ripping out Debbie’s heart so it lay pulsing in her hand instead. But Lou didn’t want Debbie’s heart in her hand - she didn’t want to _own_ Debbie. And more than that, she didn’t know if Debbie would survive such a brutal operation. So Lou had settled for merely altering her route in order to pass by Claude’s apartment, settled for glimpses of Debbie through darkened windows to let her know that Debbie was at least still alive.**

**Claude nodded in return, eyes betraying no hint of recognition. But of course, why would they? They had only officially met once, in the early days, after Lou and Debbie had made up but before they fell out again. It had been dinner at Claude’s apartment and there had been lots of people there (more people than Lou had prepared herself for) and Lou had left before dessert, her stomach unable to handle the sticky sweetness of melted chocolate mixing with the bitter acid of Debbie’s hand on Claude’s thigh and the sound of her voice curving effortlessly around his as they addressed the guests.**

**“Are you getting rid of this stuff?” Lou said, the toe of her boot scuffing up against the edge of one of the many boxes she now noticed were piled along the sidewalk. She forced herself not to look too closely, to seem disinterested, but still the sudden heat of tears pressed urgently against the back of her throat. Claude looked at her, eyes sweeping up the curve of her leather pants, over her leopard print coat, catching at the centre of her chest before settling on her face. Disgust bubbled violently beneath Lou’s skin.**

**“Yeah babe, I am – take whatever you like.” The word _babe_ sauntered off his tongue so casually and yet its hard edge pressed viciously against Lou’s windpipe.**

**“Sure, thanks.” She tried to match his casual tone even though her heart was already reaching through her chest to grab at the boxes of Debbie’s stuff which surrounded her.**

**_∞_ **

Lou’s eyes swim through her apartment, desperately hoping to catch another glimpse of Debbie’s ghost. But she knows the only way to conjure her up again would be to pull the kimono back out of the box and stand there, the two of them suspended in time forever. 

It’s a tempting thought, but then her eyes catch on a mug tucked into the corner of the box and suddenly her heart is pounding in her ears. She swallows hard in attempt to dislodge the hot mass which has wedged itself in the back of her throat and is pressing urgently against her windpipe. Tentatively, Lou reaches down and runs her fingers around the mug’s rim, gently caressing its curves. She picks it out of the box with a reverence and delicacy which would make someone think it was fine bone china, not a stupid old winnie the pooh mug covered with tea stains.

_Covered with tea stains_.

Lou stares at the pattern painted up the inside of the mug, spiralling in rings from its centre. Her finger slides down the inside of the mug and she traces over the stains. Then she realises her lungs are howling and she releases the grip of her teeth which have somehow come to clamp down on her lower lip, breath whistling through them.  
  
The last time Lou had seen this mug, its insides had been pure white; brand new and sitting on the kitchen counter, filled not with tea but with those little lindt balls in the shiny red wrappers (Debbie’s favourite - she swore that once you’ve tasted European chocolate you never go back. Lou was inclined to agree. American chocolate tasted like vomit in her opinion).   
  
The last time Lou had seen tea stains on a mug like this, she had been picking its shattered remains off the living room floor.   
  
Lou isn’t proud of how she’d acted that day. Or how she acted at any point during that time.

She had been able to feel Debbie slipping through her fingers, and she’d tried to tighten her grip, desperate not to let her fall away. She had squeezed and squeezed and squeezed but she’d held on too tight and all she had succeeded in doing was suffocating Debbie. And in trying to keep her close, Lou had contorted herself into an ugly creature whose image she did not want to recognise as her own...

_∞_

_“You’re not dressed. Why aren’t you dressed?”_

_Lou has been in the bedroom for over an hour. Now she stands in the living room, arms folded, thumbs brushing tensely along the sleeves of her blue velvet blazer. She presses her lips tightly together, careful not to smudge the lipstick she has just so painstakingly applied. Debbie looks up at her, still curled into the sofa in the same position Lou had left her in._

_“Babe, I’m sorry but can we take a rain check? I don’t think I’m up to going out tonight.”_

_Lou feels a hot flame of anger shoot upwards from the pit of coals which have been sitting heavily in the bottom of her stomach for a while now. Her eyes focus on Debbie’s hands, nestled around her mug, fingers fiddling unconsciously with the label from the teabag. She can’t look at Debbie’s face right now. She doesn’t dare look into her eyes in case she sees the flicker of a lie peeking through her eyelashes._

_“We’ve had this date night planned for weeks now.” Lou hears her voice slice through the air, edges sharp. She keeps her eyes firmly glued to Debbie’s mug._

_“Lou it’s not like I scheduled in this cold for today just to piss you off. I’m sick, what do you want me to do about it?”_

I want to you to think I’m worth the effort of going out even when you’re not feeling one hundred percent. I want you to sound more upset that you’re too sick to for our plans. I want you to come over here and kiss me and slip your hands under my clothes and moan my name into my neck until I’ve forgotten we were ever supposed to leave the apartment anyway. 

_The words scratch at the back of Lou’s throat but she clamps her jaw together and chokes them down because those aren’t the things she says to Debbie anymore. She’s too scared of what Debbie might say in return._

_“Fine.”_

_And Lou’s mad and the anger burns but she thinks that’s the end of it and she turns to head back into the bedroom because Debbie clearly doesn’t want to spend the evening with her and Lou hates to be anywhere she is not wanted._

_“What, that’s it?” Debbie’s voice grabs the back of her jacket and she jolts to a stop. “I tell you I’m too sick to go out and all you say is fine and then skulk off to hide from me for the rest of the night?_

_Lou turns._

_“Well what the fuck do you want me to do Debbie?”_

I want you to stay with me. I want you to snuggle into me and whisper sweet words about how we don’t need to go out to have a good time and I’ll whisper sweet ones back about all the things I love about you. I want you to flood me with your warmth and I’ll flood you with mine and there will be no space for any heartache between us.

_Those are the words Lou wants Debbie to say. But she knows she won’t. Lou wants to reach her hand down Debbie’s throat and pull them out, but she’s not even sure if she will find them there at all. Lou doesn’t know if Debbie still wants those things. She doesn’t know if she wants to know if Debbie still wants those things. Lou is too scared of the emptiness she might find if she searches too thoroughly, an emptiness which will rip her open if she touches it. Although truthfully, the emptiness has already begun to seep from Debbie into her, bubbling under her skin and swelling in her stomach._

_∞_

Lou presses the mug against her chest, the cool porcelain sending a shiver rippling across her skin. The emptiness is still there, but in a different way now. More hollow. Less urgent. When Lou had heard about Debbie’s arrest, the emptiness which had been stretching the underside of her skin for years had burst, causing her to collapse in on herself. The emptiness hadn’t escaped though, it still hung in echoes off her bones, but it no longer pressed up against her skin in an effort to escape. 

_∞_

_Lou stares at Debbie, willing her to say something, anything. But she just brings her mug up to her lips and sips slowly on the steaming tea, drowning any words which might have been climbing up her throat. Lou watches, and she wants to scream. She wants Debbie to scream. She thinks it would be easier (easier to swallow, easier to digest) if whatever is happening to them was filled with howling words hurled at each other in fiery flames because at least then there would still be passion behind them. The stony silence is heavy and exhausting and Lou doesn’t know what to do with it._

_Finally Debbie swallows. “Whatever, Lou.” She says, placing the mug down on the table top. “It’s fine, just go.”_

_But Lou needs an explosion now and she tries to dredge up the words to set fire to but nothing comes so in two quick strides she reaches the table and now her hands are curved around Debbie’s mug and she’s lifting it up and before she knows what is happening the crash shatters the silence and the pieces of porcelain fly across the room and tea spreads slowly across the cream carpet. And Lou looks at her hands and looks at Debbie and before she can say anything Debbie is gone._

_∞_

Lou doesn’t know where Debbie went that night. Maybe she went to Tammy, maybe she went to another friend. Fuck, maybe she even went to Claude – maybe even then they were already seeing each other, working out their little arrangement behind Lou’s back… Lou doesn’t know, and probably she never will. All Lou knows is Debbie left and she didn’t come back until the morning and Lou spent the evening hunched on the living room floor, the smell of bleach crawling up her nose and scratching the back of her throat as she desperately scrubbed tea stains out of the pale carpet, tears sliding off her cheekbones and into the mess.

Lou presses her fingers against the stains in the mug. She had scoured the internet to find an exact replica of the one she had smashed, left it out on the side full of chocolates, but Debbie had shoved it into the back of the cupboard and as far as Lou knew had never once used it. Except now she had. Lou didn’t even know she had taken it with her when she moved out.

Lou brings the mug up to her mouth, gently pressing her lips against its rim. She wants to taste Debbie there but she knows it is useless. The whole thing was useless really – it hadn’t even particularly been one of Debbie’s favourites, just one in a number she used to use. But Lou hadn’t been able to find the words to apologise and so she’d found the mug instead, as if that could have fixed anything at all.

As she clutches it, thumb rubbing up and down the handle, Lou’s eyes sweep over the words inked on its side. _“We’ll be friends forever, won’t we Pooh?” asked Piglet. “Even longer,” Pooh answered._ A dull ache grows in Lou’s chest, trickling through her bones until she can feel it even in her toes. Lou remembers when this was how she felt about her and Debbie – when she still believed they would be together for even longer than forever.

_∞_

**Something cold and wet dropped onto her collarbone and Lou looked up to see the bubbling sky darkening. Passersby began to pick up their pace, hurrying along with heads folded down as they scurried towards their destination. A New York storm was brewing and soon the sky would split in half and hurl its contents down onto them. Lou felt the panic begin to rise in her chest. The swirling clouds echoed in her lungs as thunder rumbled in the distance.**

**Lou couldn’t carry all these boxes on the subway by herself. She didn’t have time to travel back to her apartment and then drive her battered truck through the city to pick them up – by then the storm would have picked up all of Debbie’s possessions and hurled them across the city, dropping them into the litter-filled rivers which would soon be flowing through the streets. Besides, Lou didn’t want to leave them here displayed on the sidewalk whatever the weather. The thought of other people, strangers, walking past and pausing to rummage through Debbie’s things, taking what they fancied, had Lou’s lungs collapsing in on themselves, her fingers gripping at the pockets of her jacket in terror.**

**So Lou flung out her arm to hail a cab, piling the boxes into the back seats, piling more onto her lap, until the sidewalk was empty and the cab bursting at the seams. She couldn’t afford it, but Lou would rather not eat for a week than leave Debbie’s possessions stranded on the sidewalk.**

_∞_

After placing the mug gently back into the box it came from, Lou begins to slowly sift through the pile of clothes next to it. A few layers down, her hands meet with a soft, familiar material, and the feeling of it against her skin almost sends her eyes rolling back in her head. How did Debbie have this shirt? It was Lou’s, she knew it was. It was old and worn, an oversized grey sleep shirt which Lou had spent many nights wearing, or half wearing, or slipping back into. Sure, Debbie had worn it on occasion too, but it was definitely Lou’s. Lou wonders how she never noticed it missing.

She brings the crumpled shirt up to her face, burying her nose deep into the fabric, clambering into the scent. Its arms wrap around her, holding her tightly, the touch so familiar and yet so far away. It’s Debbie, curling up into Lou’s lungs as she inhales. It’s Debbie… but it’s something else too - it’s her, it’s Lou. It’s their specific scent of Lou and Debbie, Debbie and Lou, tangled together in crumpled sheets, skin on skin, breath mixing with breath… 

_∞_

_The bitter New York cold hurls itself against the window, wind howling, desperate to push into their apartment and join them in bed. But they won’t let it - it’s just the two of them tonight, curled into each other under layers of blankets._  
  
_Lou has her hand buried in the warmth of Debbie’s pyjama pants, not doing anything in particular, just resting into the soft curve of Debbie’s hip. Debbie’s fingers trace light circles up the inside of Lou’s thigh. Heat trickles from beneath Debbie’s touch and drips up Lou’s leg. Then Debbie ghosts over a particularly sensitive patch of skin and a shiver leaps up her spine._  
  
_“Are you cold baby?” Debbie notices the ripple and the newly raised bumps fluttering across her skin because Debbie notices everything. Lou nestles her head deeper into the crook of Debbie’s neck._  
  
_“No I’m good, are you good?”_  
  
_“I’m always good when I’m with you.” The words fall from Debbie’s mouth so casually that Lou almost drops them but she doesn’t. She catches them on the tip of her tongue and holds them there for a second, savouring their taste, before swallowing them down. Their warmth seeps through her; honey and sunshine and happiness._  
  
_Debbie’s roaming fingers have now reached the top of Lou’s inside thigh, and they rest there, fingers on skin but thumb rubbing absentmindedly against the soft grey fabric at the hem of her shirt. Lou can feel the warmth building inside her now - a direct result of Debbie’s touch - and she can feel it slowly spilling out of her, dripping down her leg towards Debbie’s fingers._  
  
_“May I..?” Debbie asks, eyes dark._  
  
_“Always...” Lou replies, voice soft, and she means it (and she knows Debbie will still ask every time and she loves her for it)._

_Slowly (painfully slowly) Debbie’s fingers climb up the remaining skin, closing the gap between where she is and where Lou wants her. They come to rest gently against her, tips just brushing not quite inside, hand cupped between her legs. Debbie’s thumb continues to rub against Lou’s t shirt - the material now bunched up against her lower belly. The stillness of Debbie’s hand paired with the movement of the fabric against her skin has Lou’s nerve endings screaming, and the screams flicker up her throat and fall off her tongue, surrounded by breathy desire._  
  
_Keeping her hand where it is, Debbie rolls over, hooking a leg around the side of Lou’s waist, knee pressing firmly against the dimple between her thigh and hip. Lou pushes her hips down to press against the heel of Debbie’s hand and her mouth curls open around the whimpered breath which leaps from her lungs._  
  
_Quickly, Debbie brings her head down to catch it in her own, lips against Lou’s. She steals the sound and swallows it down and then her lips pull away again, leaving Lou’s open mouth silent and breathless. The desire shoots up Lou’s body, almost cracking her in half, and she begins to push down and down and down against Debbie’s hand, attempting to fold deeper and deeper into her touch. Debbie slips into her. She meets her rhythm and they move together, energy pulsing through them both._  
  
_Debbie’s face is still hovering inches above hers and Lou climbs into her eyes, rich and soft. And then the swell over takes her and her body is flung against the sky, falling down just to be flung up again - Debbie’s hand throwing her high and then catching her as she falls, every time. The moans trip over her tongue thick and fast now, and Debbie brings her mouth down to meet each one, gulping them down as if they were raindrops falling the middle of a desert._  
  
_Somehow, Debbie’s other hand has worked its way up under Lou’s shirt and is now cupping her breast, kneading the soft flesh in time to the rhythm they’ve created. Her fingers ghost over Lou’s nipple and the note echoes deep inside the chamber of her ribcage_  
  
_“Are you close, baby?” Just the sound of Debbie’s voice, warm and near, almost sends her over the edge. She nods, eyes still clinging to Debbie’s._  
  
_“I’m so close Deb...”_  
  
_The words are more a hiss of punctuated air than coherent sounds but Debbie’s lips close over them and she tastes the meaning and this time she doesn’t pull away after swallowing the sound. Her hands move firm and fast and Lou threads her fingers into Debbie’s hair and holds on for dear life as her body tightens around Debbie, shaking and shaking and shaking..._  
  
_And Debbie’s mouth works against hers the entire time, swallowing Lou’s screams and burying them down in her lungs._

_As Lou’s body begins to soften again, she presses herself closer into Debbie, her tongue now lazily tracing over the inside of Debbie’s lower lip. Debbie’s hands slip out from under her shirt, arms wrapping tightly around her. Lou feels so safe, so wanted, tangled up in each other like this. Pulling her lips away slightly, she gazes softly into Debbie’s eyes._

_“I love you Debbie.”_

_Debbie lets the words float between them for a second, and then she places her mouth over Lou’s again, kissing her with such a slow but burning intensity that Lou wonders if she might orgasm again, just from this one simple touch. But then Debbie breaks away. Her eyes meet Lou’s, eyelashes dripping._

_“I love you too, Lou.”_

_And Lou holds her so tightly, and she knows she is never letting go – they will stay like this forever, Lou and Debbie, Debbie and Lou, tangled up in each other’s arms for the rest of their lives…_

_∞_

Lou realises she is shaking, face buried into the crumpled folds of material. Her breath hitches and her shoulders heave and the back of her ribs seem like they might be about to burst through her skin. Her fingers hold the shirt so tightly and she inhales, sucking in the scent. Lou wants to never let go, she wants to stay like this forever, tangled up in the memories of her and Debbie for the rest of her life. Maybe though, just maybe, if she climbs into the shirt, perhaps she will be able to climb back in time, back to when it was still Lou and Debbie, Debbie and Lou, never letting go, tangled in each other forever.

Her hands tug at the buttons of her vest, pulling it frantically off her body, along with her top and her bra. Her arms slip into the comforting fabric of the grey t shirt and she pulls it over her head and then lets the material fall down over her body. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Lou wills the magic to happen.

But it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. Magic isn’t real and Debbie is still in jail and Lou is alone in her apartment surrounded by boxes of Debbie’s things, tears dripping off her cheeks and landing in dark blooms on her shirt.

And then the tears begin to fall thick and fast, tearing through her body like the storm which swept through New York earlier that day. Suddenly Lou wants to empty every box, to climb inside every memory and relive every moment with Debbie. She begins to pull at items, holding them up and then clutching them close, all the time choking on the sobs which threaten to drown her.

Debbie’s baseball hat, which she wore religiously anytime she dragged Lou to a game (but only wore at games – Debbie Ocean would never be caught dead wandering around New York City wearing a baseball cap)…

Black dress after black dress after black dress, most of which Lou recognise (some of which she doesn’t), flooding her with images of cons and bars and a thousand looks and a thousand smirks and… _“baby you look so good in that dress”... “just wait until you see how good I look out of it”… “I already know how you look out of it”… “then you know I’m right”… “damn straight”…_

She finds a box full of books, mostly ones Lou remembers pressing into her hand _“honey you have to read this one”… “what would I do without my own personal librarian?”…_ and she runs her fingers over the titles, pulling them out and stacking them up until her eyes catch on one and she flicks it open to the title page to reveal her own scrawling script; _happy birthday Debbie, for some reason these stories made me think of you, I don’t know why. I hope you like them, love Lou._ Lou remembers this birthday – it was an early one, Lou thinks, possibly even before they were officially together. She remembers being nervous to give Debbie the book, but she doesn’t know why now. Worried it was too intimate, maybe.

_∞_

**_“_ ** _How did you know it was my birthday?” Debbie asks as Lou slides the parcel in front of her._

_“Babe you’ve been dropping hints for weeks now.”_

_“Yeah but I never said the date.”_

_“Honey I’m a criminal, you think I can’t slip your ID from your pocket to check without you noticing?”_

_Debbie shoves her lightly and Lou swears she’s blushing. Her fingers run along the edge of the wrapping paper._

_“Go on, open it – it’s nothing very exciting, but I wanted to get you something.”_

_“I’m sure it’s perfect” Debbie says, fingers now underneath the folds, slipping the book out from beneath the paper and turning it in her hands._

_“The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar,” Debbie reads._

_“It’s a book of short stories – the title one is the best but they’re all pretty good.” Lou studies Debbie’s face, trying to read whether she likes it or not. Debbie flicks it open and notices Lou’s inscription on the title page._

_A slow smile spreads across her face and she bites her lip. “Well I’m intrigued Ms Miller, I will report back when I’ve read them”_

_Lou smiles back. “Just don’t go getting any ideas…”_

_∞_

Lou thumbs through the book now, the paper worn and the spine creased. Tears fall onto the pages and her hands shake as the memories wind around her; hours and days and weeks of the two of them wrapped up in each other, each wrapped up in a different fictional world as they read in companionable silence. Lou squeezes her eyes shut for a second, trying to climb back into that time, and then she adds the book to the pile and moves on to the next box, and the next memory…

She pulls out some postcards, tucked down the side of a box. There’s a picture of Lake Como on one, Danny’s scrawling script on the back. _“Danny says the scenery is beautiful, and that you’d love the weather Lou.”… “Oh yeah? And does your brother mention what exactly he’s doing in Italy?”_

Boxes of records fill her up with flashes of screaming lyrics and slow dances and candle lit dinners and heist planning and road trips and suddenly the soundtrack to their life is blasting in her ears and echoing in her chest.

But then it’s just silent static as she searches for that _one_ record and her throat closes over as she realises it’s not here.

The Fleetwood Mac record signed by the entire band.

(It was a rare find from a record shop in the East Village. They’d both kissed that record cover. They’d both sworn it was their most precious possession. Lou had let Debbie take it when she left because Lou knew she could never listen to it without her.)

And now the panic is swelling inside her and pushing against her rib cage and her eyes flit wildly around the room because where is it?

And then she knows.

And she’s grabbing her keys and practically sprinting to the subway because that son of a bitch has stolen enough from her, stolen enough from Debbie, there is no fucking way he is having this.

It’s not until Lou is sitting on the train that she realises she is still wearing the soft grey shirt, damp with tears, and stained with so many memories. Her fingers run along its familiar hem, before gathering a clutch of the fabric in her hand. It makes her feel closer to Debbie, or closer to the Lou and Debbie she so desperately wishes she could go back to. The Lou and Debbie that would fall asleep with fingers in each other’s hair. The Lou and Debbie that would spend lazy Sunday mornings making pancakes and drinking tea, dressed in oversized shirts and cosy socks. The Lou and Debbie that could talk with their eyes when they needed to, but still used their mouths to say _I love you_. 

Lou wants to say it now. To scream it until her lungs burn and the windows of the subway car shatter and the words float over the New York skyline. _I LOVE YOU… I LOVE YOU DEBBIE OCEAN... I STILL LOVE YOU… I NEVER STOPPED LOVING YOU… COME BACK TO ME DEBBIE… PLEASE… COME BACK TO ME… I LOVE YOU…_ But even if the sound could permeate the heavy prison walls, it was too late. Even if Debbie wanted to, she couldn’t come back to Lou now.

Claude had seen to that.

And then the train reaches Lou’s stop and she’s running along the street which had been lined with boxes only a few hours earlier and wondering why she never screamed those words up at that window while she still had the chance. And as her hand hammers against the door she regrets every time she walked past without striking her fist against it, when there was still the chance it could be opened by Debbie.

But Debbie is now behind a different set of walls and it is Claude who opens the door, confusion and mild irritation swimming across his face. It is Claude who Lou pushes past as she races into the apartment, Claude who shouts angrily at her back, Claude who grabs her wrist to halt her progress down the hallway.

“Where is it? Where the fuck is it Claude?” Lou is a snarling cheetah, teeth bared, ready to pounce.

“Where is what? And who the fuck are you? I’m calling the police.”

“Oh yeah?” Lou growls, leaping forwards, “And have me thrown in jail too?”

But Claude only replies with a gargled hiss of air because Lou has him pinned up against the wall, forearm pressing firmly across his throat. She knows she looks like a maniac; eyes wild, makeup smeared down her tear stained face, nipples brushing prominently against the worn grey shirt. She eases the pressure of her forearm slightly.

“What do you want?” Claude whispers hoarsely.

“I want Debbie’s record. I know you have it.”

“Debbie? You know –” The sound of Debbie’s name wrapped around Claude’s tongue jerks Lou’s forearm forwards again, strangling the rest of his words.

“Yes I know her. And I want her record back. The signed one.” And then Lou’s eyes catch on the painting above Claude’s head and she feels the bile rush up her throat and she clamps her lips together and swallows forcefully.

_∞_

_They are at an art gallery in Bushwick._

_“I’m buying it.”_

_“You are not buying it.”_

_“But Lou, she has your nipples… and your cheekbones... in fact, are you sure you didn’t sit for this painting to earn extra money during college because this woman is the spit of you.”_

_“No Debbie, I did not. Plus, it really doesn’t look like me. And anyway, why would you want a naked painting of me when you have the real thing right here?”_

_“Because, baby, much as I wish you were, you’re not always naked. And I also think it’s just generally a beautiful work of art which will look amazing above our bed.”_

_“You are NOT hanging it above our bed.”_

_Lou lets her buy the painting because at the end of the day, Lou always lets Debbie have whatever she wants._

_∞_

“I want everything. Everything of Debbie’s you still have.” Lou eyes are still fixed on the painting hanging above Claude’s head. Claude makes another gargled sound and Lou jabs swift and hard into his neck one more time before stepping back to let him crumple to the floor.

And then her hands are on the painting and she’s pulling it off the wall and her eyes are scanning the room for more of Debbie’s possessions.

“You can’t take that…” Claude’s voice strains over the words, lungs still wheezing.

“I can take whatever the fuck I want,” Lou snarls. “But luckily for you I don’t want any of your shit. All I want is Debbie’s. So hand it over. All of it.”

Lou begins to stalk around the apartment, pulling open draws and hurling their contents onto the floor, searching for Debbie. In the back of one, her hands clasp around a small jewellery box and she pulls it out. She knows what’s in it before she even flips open the lid. It is still the most expensive thing she’s ever bought.

_∞_

_“Happy anniversary baby.”_

_“I love you Lou.”_

_“Open it. Please.”_

_“Open yours…”_

_∞_

Lou doesn’t want to cry in front of Claude, doesn’t want to seem weak, but she can’t help it. As she wipes angrily at the tears with the back of her hand, the panic begins to swell in her stomach as she realises she still hasn’t found the record. The jewellery box is gripped tightly in her fist.

“Where is the record Claude?”

“I’ve already sold it.”

“Don’t play games with me. Where the fuck is it?”

“I’m not playing games. I’ve already sold it. Turns out it was worth quite a bit…”

And then something in Lou snaps and her ribs crack open and her heart and her lungs fall onto the floor by her feet and she closes the gap between her and Claude and she closes the gap between her fist and his face and then she grabs the painting in one hand (still clutching the jewellery box in the other) and she runs and she runs and she doesn’t stop running until she is gasping down stale subway air in shuddering breaths.

The journey home seems to take forever.

Then finally she is back in her apartment, surrounded by the boxes of Debbie and it’s safe to let herself shatter into a million pieces.

She can feel every bone in her body splintering and the shards ripping through her skin. Everything is too hot and too tight and she pulls off her shoes and her pants but she doesn’t take off the shirt because she is never taking off that shirt. Every breath pounds against her spine and her shoulders shake as she desperately tries to take in enough air to fill her perforated lungs.

Lou feels her stomach contract and she runs to the bathroom to hunch over the toilet bowl, pain and anger and loneliness pouring out of her. The acid burns the back of her throat.

Once her body has nothing left to expel, and Lou is just a shell of empty skin and hollow eyes, she makes her way gingerly out of the bathroom and back into the sea of boxes. She shivers, cold bubbling up under her skin, and she grabs one of Debbie’s coats from the top of a box and slips it on. Burying into its folds, Lou hides herself between the scent of Debbie and the mass of soft black fabric.

Suddenly a blanket of exhaustion envelops her, and Lou crumbles to the ground. She wants nothing more than to curl herself around Debbie and fall asleep with her nose in Debbie’s hair, hands around her waist.

The apartment has never felt emptier than it does now, full of Debbie’s things.

Lou rests her head on a pile of sweaters, letting them soak up the tears which somehow still seem to be dripping steadily through her eyelashes.

Gently, her lips kiss the jewellery box still clutched in her hand.

“I love you Debbie,” she whispers. The words dribble into the sweaters. “Please come back to me.” She curls herself into a tight ball, attempting to squeeze out the emptiness.

“I’m sorry Debbie.”

The tears continue to fall.

“I have all your stuff Debbie. I’m looking after it for you…” Lou continues to whisper the words she knows Debbie will never hear. She needs to say them.

“Please come back to me… I love you Debbie… I’ve always loved you… Please…”

Her body shudders and her voice cracks.

“Come back to me…”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. I would love to know what you think so please leave your comments, thoughts, suggestions below...
> 
> also don't forget to come and visit me over on tumblr @oceansgate <3


End file.
